


Farewell and Into the Inevitable

by blueblack-poked-stars (delicate_mageflower)



Series: I Was Lost Without You [3]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Bipolar Shepard, Colonist (Mass Effect), Crew as Family, F/M, Fuck Cerberus, Gen, Infidelity, Inspired by Music, Mass Effect 3, Other, Past Shepard/Kelly, Past Shepard/Thane, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Harm, Slight Canon Divergence, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-13 02:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12974136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/blueblack-poked-stars
Summary: Carrie Shepard: N7, Spectre, savior, survivor. Carrie Shepard: disaster, traitor.She has done so much and hurt so many, and she is a burden to herself and to all of those she's left behind. She wants nothing more than to be punished for her crimes, but retribution never seems to find her, at least not conventionally. But she's never considered that maybe there is a reason for all of this, that maybe it really does need to be her to lead them. There's a long fight ahead of her, ahead of them all, but perhaps anything really is possible.[each chapter is delicately crafted around a different song, which will always be linked in-fic, and listening ishighlyrecommended; ongoing playlist also availablehere]





	1. And I Am an Accident Waiting to Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended listening: [The Dresden Dolls - "Truce"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y00XnqSoUrY)
> 
> CW for self harm, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, and graphic depictions of a suicide attempt

Carrie Shepard can’t catch her breath.

The Normandy has just passed through the Omega 4 relay and back into charted space. They have defied all odds, achieved the impossible.

She does not want to be here.

She gave the Collector Base to the Illusive Man and no one has spared her their opinions on this decision. She doesn’t necessarily agree with it, either, and she absolutely does not trust him. In the moment, however, she was cold enough to be entirely pragmatic. She saved the base in the hope that it could provide answers, research of some kind. She doesn’t know, doesn’t really understand what use it could be, but in that moment it had felt like the right thing to do because it was going to be her parting gift. She wasn’t supposed to make it out with the rest of her crew, she wasn’t supposed to face the consequences.

She was not supposed to be here. She does not want to be here.

She heads to her cabin, ignoring everyone around her. She has more important things to attend to, far more than her crew’s (admittedly justified) judgment and waiting to see what the Illusive Man wants from her next.

She sits down at her terminal and carefully composes a message to Liara. She needs to know where Kaidan is, if that’s worth anything. She doubts Liara will ask her any questions, and she has no desire to answer any. She is as vague as possible while plans for where she goes from here spin through her head, and she makes a special point to do this much before anything else. She can’t let herself think too long about what she wants to do, and so she needs to get this first step out of the way ASAP.

She also has her suspicions that her memory of the rest of the day is about to be severely compromised.

She reaches under her desk for the photo of Kaidan she used to keep up top, where she could always see it. It stays beneath now, though, face down, ever since she and Thane started doing whatever it is they’re doing. She realizes that she didn’t even hide it when she had Kelly up to spend the night. She feels a bit rude over that one. Although she supposes it’s no worse than…she knows it isn’t quite right to think of what she’s done as _cheating,_ per se, but it doesn’t make her feel any better to have her gut tell her that this is exactly what’s really been happening and then continuing to do it, anyway.

She lets herself look at it now, though, takes in how much she misses him and how much she has to hope that he truly has learned to hate her, for his sake. She hides the photo away again and closes her terminal, and her hamster begins incessantly squeaking at her when she rises.

She assumes it’s giving her hell for everything she’s done, too.

It was even better than falling over Alchera, freezing in place in the Collector base. This time she had gotten _everyone_ to safety. This time there was no one left behind. She knew she was the only one among them who had not made it back to the Normandy, and she’d had no intention of following them.

But then she had to fucking see Joker hanging out of the airlock, calling and reaching for her, looking and sounding so damn desperate. She just had to think of Ashley, of leaving her on Virmire, and to use that reference to put herself in Joker’s shoes. He’d left her behind once before, after all, or that’s how she knows he sees it. She doesn’t agree, but she knows Ashley wouldn’t agree with her, either. So of course when she saw him like that, she could only picture getting another shot at keeping Ashley safe. And it would have fucking killed her to leave Ashley to die a second time, and she knows damn well that it would have killed Joker just the same. So when she wanted to stand still, she jumped. She did it for him.

Everyone wants her to regret being callous enough to save the base. No, she regrets caring enough to be back here. She regrets caring at all.

She doesn’t even notice what she’s doing before her fist goes through the glass case that stores her model ships.

She can’t catch her breath.

But she has several bottles of ryncol stashed underneath her bed. And that is where she is heading.

***

She wakes up in considerable pain, but the greatest gift Cerberus has given her is that she’s no longer much for hangovers. There’s blood on the bed sheets and shattered glass everywhere. She only remembers some of it, but she’s done this often enough that she doesn’t need to recall any of it on her own at all. The broken display case is new, but she isn’t particularly bothered by it. She was aware of having done that one.

As for the rest of it, she tells herself she’ll try to discreetly grab some medi-gel for her wounds later on. She won’t, though. She never does.

Anything she might have done to herself while she was drinking has probably already begun to heal enough on its own, though, no matter how bad it was. Cerberus truly has made this far too easy.

She sits down at her terminal for lack of anything else better to do, not even interested in checking herself over for injuries. She knows they’re there, she doesn’t need to see where or what they look like. It doesn’t matter.

Liara came through, she knows exactly where Kaidan is. And he’s with Anderson, better yet.

She knows what to do.

“Joker,” she slurs into the comm. She isn’t sure she’s hungover, but she may still be a little drunk. “Set a course for Earth.”

“Ah, do I get to ask _why?”_ He sounds worried. Her voice must have given her away.

“No,” she says without missing a beat. “Earth, Joker, and that’s an order.”

“Hey, umm, speaking of _orders,_ Shepard, the Illusive Man’s been waiting for you on vid comm,” Joker tells her, his hesitance audible.

She doesn’t want to know what he wants from them—from _her_ —now. She’s given him enough.

The Collectors are gone, she’s kept her end of the deal she never legitimately signed on for. She’s seen this mission through because she knew it needed to be done (and because, she must acknowledge, she was afraid of what the Illusive Man might do if she didn’t), but it’s over now. She’s done answering to him. She’s cutting the leash.

“I don’t give a fuck what he’s waiting for,” she counters tersely. “Tell the crew that we’re getting the hell out of this mess. Anyone wants to jump ship, that’s great. Grab a shuttle and go. But first, you’re taking my ass to Earth.”

“Yeah, okay, alright…aye, aye, ma’am,” Joker reluctantly agrees. “Setting course for Earth.”

“I’m going to Vancouver,” she adds. “Get the Normandy somewhere close by and I’ll take a shuttle from there. Don’t follow me.”

“Shepard…” Now he’s _definitely_ worried. “Shepard, what’s going—”

“I said that’s an order,” she hisses, and that’s the end of that.

***

She left without saying goodbye. She didn’t say a word to anyone on her way out the door, she didn’t tell anyone what she was doing or where exactly she was going.

Where she has gone.

Approaching Alliance HQ, guns are drawn on her before she gets as far as the entrance. Two at point blank and two from up above, she notes. She easily shows her hands, holds them up in an effort to signal that she is not a threat. Not that she needs a weapon, and she realizes everyone present surely knows what she is capable of, but it’s the best she can do.

She does think of provoking someone, however, of deciding instead to incite violence so maybe one of those sharpshooters trained on her will take her out (the first of many times following her arrival here that it will dawn on her just how ready she is to see an end to this most unnatural life). But she doesn’t, she doesn’t want to make anyone else’s day any harder than it needs to be. The armed guards who face her directly lower their weapons, and she does not struggle or protest when one approaches. Her hands are bound behind her back, and she walks with as much confidence as she can muster as she is led inside.

They don’t make it very far before Anderson meets them, and she cannot say she is surprised.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” It isn’t clear if this question is meant for her or the personnel escorting her, or if it’s simply rhetorical.

She hopes she doesn’t see Kaidan. She wanted to be where he is, but now that she’s there, she can’t face him. This is more than enough.

“These fine soldiers have apprehended a criminal, sir,” she replies with a thick air of sarcasm she does not quite intend. “Going AWOL and working with a known terrorist organization should be more than enough to warrant a court martial, don’t you think. And perhaps some nice commendations for your incredibly talented staff here.”

“Cut the shit, Shepard,” Anderson snaps back at her. “What’s this really about?”

He doesn’t want to do what she’s asking of him, that’s all. No one would give a second thought if she were anyone else, but…

It occurs to her that she has no clue why _he_ is here, at an Alliance office instead of the Citadel.

She doesn’t have time to ask.

“Admiral,” the officer behind her speaks up.

 _Admiral._ He must have abandoned the Council. She’d be willing to put down good credits that he did it the exact moment he got word that the Normandy had gone through the Omega 4 relay (and she doesn’t know how, but she has no doubt that he heard about it almost as soon as it happened). It makes her skin crawl to think on the likelihood that Udina would have been quick to take his place, but she has more pressing matters at hand.

“Orders, sir?”

Anderson steps right up to her, and she defiantly stares into his eyes.

“You know it’s the right thing,” she nearly whispers. Her gaze is fierce and steady, but the bloodshot red and glazing in her eyes gives her away. “You know what you have to do, Dad.”

It isn’t the first time she’s called him that. It’s never intentional, but no one would ever argue that it was accurate to their relationship, however inappropriate this relationship is in reference to protocol and chain of command. Both of them want to acknowledge it, but neither is sure how. So they simply don’t.

He steps back and nods. That’s his answer.

She is led to an empty detention center, given a whole room all her own. She doubts she’s to be given the standard treatment, but it’s a start. She dreads what the path she’s just put herself on might hold, but she knows she deserves far worse. She’s being held now, at least, she is surely heading towards some version of punishment. It’s too cozy yet, it is nowhere near what she was looking for, but she had to start somewhere.

***

“I abandoned the Alliance without leave,” Shepard states. “I joined a terrorist group. _And_ I kidnapped the Alliance’s best pilot while I was at it.”

That one’s inspired by Kaidan, by when he mentioned the Alliance could charge them with kidnapping if they wanted to get technical when they stole the Normandy to get to Ilos.

She truly has no idea how she could ever face him again.

“Do you _really_ expect me to believe _that,_ Shepard?” Anderson shakes his head. “Give me a damn break.”

“Systems Alliance Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau worked his ass off to earn that title, and he would never walk away from it if the choice was his own,” Shepard insists. She knows Anderson isn’t buying this for a second, but she’s hoping that if she screams loud enough about it he won’t have any option but to pretend he does, at least as far as the list of formal charges is concerned.

And that is her _only_ concern anymore.

“Shepard,” Anderson sighs and shakes his head. He sets down the datapad he’s been holding. This whole conversation is being recorded. This is her big moment, her official confession. This is where things start moving, this is how she gets her due.

“Shepard, what’s this _really_ about?”

She takes a breath, her limited patience waning. She’s at the end of her rope, too close to the fuse. She’s already tired of this bureaucratic bullshit, tired of somehow still having enough friends in high places to keep her out of too much trouble.

“I’m a traitor to the Alliance,” she reiterates. “I went AWOL to work with terrorists. I should be charged with treason for this, for fuck’s sake. And I have a history, sir. If you recall, I also once led my crew to mutiny and stole a prototype warship to fly Alliance colors outside of Council space, knowingly at the risk of inciting galactic war.”

Anderson narrows his eyes, looking strained. “Shepard, that was—”

“That was _my call_ as the ship’s commanding officer,” she interrupts. “We were pardoned because I was right, and that’s great, but I’m sure the brass expected it to be a one time thing. Clearly, they were wrong.”

Anderson says nothing, only glancing between her and the datapad transcribing her every word. She isn’t making this easy on him. Depending on who hears this, she’s already given them more than enough to warrant a dishonorable discharge at the bare minimum.

“Oh, and don’t forget about the part where I was sleeping with a subordinate!” She sounds almost cheerful, and Anderson steels himself. He is afraid that he is going to have to resign himself to her fate, that he really is going to have to let her go this time. He’ll have Hackett on his side, there’s no doubt about that, but how much of Hackett’s own personal feelings about Shepard he will allow to interfere with his professional ruling is yet to be seen. He’s done his part to keep the brass off her back, as well, but now that she’s here, everyone’s hands may be tied.

“Shepard, you know that Alenko is…” Anderson is reaching, but he knows it will get her attention. He won’t tell her why Kaidan is here, he won’t reveal the promotion or the classified position he’s accepted, but he can tell her that for the time being he’s in this same damn building with her. He saw her after what happened on Horizon, and he remembers her admitting to him what she and Kaidan were and how passionately she was ready to fight to keep him.

He saw it, too, saw that Kaidan brought out a different side to her, that he gave her a sense of stability. He’s sure she hates the thought of needing another person to provide that for her as much as he does (she truly _is_ like a daughter to him), but stability had never previously fit anywhere in her life, and neither has it since, although that had been such a promising beginning.

Anderson just wants to get through to her now, just wants to help her if he can.

He knows what Kaidan means to her, and he has to hope that invoking his name will make some difference.

“I know,” she tells him. “I know and I…I don’t want to see him.”

It’s a lie and they both know it, but it is, however paradoxically, simultaneously a hard truth.

She’s lost.

“Shepard…”

“Anderson, _please.”_

Behind her eyes, she is shouting, begging for him to stop showing her mercy.

He doesn’t know all she’s seen. She slipped the Alliance plenty of intel on Cerberus while she was with them, sure, but he didn’t live it like she did.

He didn’t see Teltin. He wasn’t at Atlas Station. He didn’t endure on Akuze.

This is her burden. This is her sin.

She’s made her bed, and now it’s time to lie in it.

She’s tired of playing games with her identity, with her past. She’s tired of faking whose side she’s on, tired of how inauthentic any allegiance will look now. She’s tired of having to live without retribution for who she’s been with and who she’s walked away from. She’s tired of avoiding, tired of missing. She’s tired.

She is so fucking tired.

“I’ve done enough,” she sighs.

She’s right, she has. His take on it won’t matter once this makes it to the higher ups. He knows her, knows her motives. He’s supported her all throughout this mess, but he wishes she’d never have come here, never have done _this._

It’ll all be out of his hands now.

“Alright, Shepard,” he concedes. “I…I think I have everything I need.”

“No special treatment,” she adds. “I know about Hackett’s fucking gag order on me, okay. I know I was being protected. We’re not doing that shit this time. I’m no better than any other soldier who flinches from their duty. I’m guilty, Anderson. Let me be guilty.”

“You never flinched…”

He looks like he wants to keep going, to keep arguing, but he doesn’t.

He’s never met anyone as stubborn as she is, and if what she wants is to be locked in a cell like some petty criminal, god knows she will find a way to get it. It’s better for both of them if she gets it this way, then.

It’s better for her.

***

Her bed is too soft.

What is ostensibly a prison bed should not be so soft.

Alliance detention’s not so bad. She demanded they not give her special treatment and she does not for a moment believe that demand has been met.

She has a window and a beautiful view, she has a fucking bookshelf.

 _That_ makes her think of Kasumi. She hopes everyone’s okay, that they all got out alright. She doesn’t think she’ll ever find out, but it’s nice to dream that they’re all well.

After all, she left without saying goodbye. Not to Joker, not to Thane, not to Kelly, not to anyone. She tells herself it was to give them deniability, but a part of her has to wonder if the real reason was simply that she didn’t want to deal with the feelings that would have accompanied the experience.

Kelly and Thane can bond in her absence. They can both reminisce over their times being led on by the great Commander Shepard, so publicly fearless but so privately fragile and needy yet emotionally unavailable, but still a good lay.

She cared about them, though. She cared about them all, for as hard as she’d tried not to get attached, not to treat them the way she’d treated her former Normandy crew.

And then she left them behind.

Also like her former Normandy crew.

But she hasn’t seen Kaidan, not even in passing.

She still can’t bring herself to call it over between them, despite everything, but this makes it all that much more important for them to remain permanently separated.

She is lost, fallen into a pit of her own mistakes and regrets.

But the repercussions have been, thus far, minimal.

Her room is large and comfortable and accommodating. This is not at all what she expected.

She is regularly searched for weapons and contraband, and she has been informed that any biotic use will trigger a sensor that _will_ lead armed guards headed guns first straight to her door. And that almost makes this feel real.

But it’s not enough.

Months have passed, the turn of a new solar year has gone by. Anderson drops by from time to time. He tells her it’s made the vids that she’s in custody, but in the public it’s only rumors, and details are never given.

She hardly sleeps. A part of her must have thought getting away from Cerberus would make the dreams of Akuze go back to “normal,” but that has not yet been the case.

Neither does she deserve for it to be.

He tells her Kaidan’s on a classified assignment, that he left not long after she got there, but that he’s due to report back in a couple of weeks if she’d like him to try to arrange something. She tells him every time that she doesn’t want Kaidan to know where she is or why. Anderson promises, tells her that her secret’s safe as long as it’s in his control. She believes him.

It’s not enough.

Anderson tells her Joker’s been pardoned and reinstated, and she is genuinely happy to hear it. Joker doesn’t know why, though, another secret Anderson has sworn to keep.

(He has, however, deliberately left out the part about how this reinstatement is yet strictly probationary, how he is still almost as heavily monitored as she. But with how pleased she was to find out that he had been shown any mercy at all, he couldn’t bring himself to take that away from her unless he absolutely needed to, and there has not been any such need as far as he sees it.)

She’s had enough.

The most punishing element of this imprisonment is the sobriety. She is no longer used to being left alone with her own thoughts and no means of escape. She could go a little overboard from time to time when she was Alliance, but all bets were off after Cerberus brought her in. She didn’t care at all anymore from there. This is by far the longest she’s been sober since she came back from the dead (or possibly ever, ever since she first discovered the escapism of alcohol, in reality), and it does not sit well with her.

It’s damning, but it isn’t a proper reprisal.

She can’t do this. She can’t. She won’t.

It’s eating away at her. She still dreams of Akuze every single night, at least when she sleeps. Sometimes David Archer is there in these nightmares, sometimes Jack. Rear Admiral Kahoku likes to visit the scene from time to time, too. Cerberus has done so much wrong, has hurt so many.

She can’t live with herself. She can’t live.

She’d really thought the Alliance would not be so lenient with her. She’d needed the Alliance to not be so lenient with her.

She’s been thinking a lot over the past few weeks. She’s been thinking _a lot._

She’s been thinking about where she’s been and where she’s going. She’s been thinking about who she’s hurt and what she’s complicit in. She’s been thinking about what she’s earned in contrast to what she’s getting.

She’s been thinking about how this plan did not work out. She’s been thinking about a new one.

She’s been thinking a lot. She’s been thinking too much.

And it’s her birthday. That seems as good a time as ever.

She doesn’t want to be Cerberus but she doesn’t belong to the Alliance any longer. The Alliance isn’t hers, she isn’t worthy of it. The Alliance is for Kaidan, for Joker, for Anderson. Cerberus is for destruction and chaos, for ends justifying any means, and evidently for ruined walking corpses of former leaders to waste away in.

She doesn’t want to be Cerberus. She can’t be Cerberus. They gave her back her life, and that tethers her to them for as long as she has it.

So.

It’s so easy, so casual. She’s had a fork hidden in her boot for weeks, the best course of action she could come up with ever since she started thinking this way.

Which makes it that much more obvious that she is not being treated in accordance with her crimes, that she apparently truly is “special,” judging by how half-assed those searches would have to be.

It is almost comical, how nonchalant she is about this. There is no breakdown, no build up. She does not so much snap as simply shrug.

She’s done, she decides, it’s over. It doesn’t need to be a big deal.

It’s her first birthday since her resurrection. This is a fitting celebration.

Because Cerberus is responsible. Cerberus hurt so many, but they brought her back to life. That makes it wrong. They created this life, and she can’t accept what’s theirs. They can have it back.

This is how she can even the odds. This is her white flag.

And it’s a pleasant thought, dying on Earth. She’s pretty sure this city is where Kaidan is from. She doesn’t know about Anderson, but of course he would have to have been born on Earth.

She’s always loved Earth, has always felt at home here. She didn’t see it for the first time until she was 16, after the Alliance took her from Mindoir and covertly offered her biotic training in Rhode Island. After that it was boot in Macapá, and she was sad to say goodbye to it then, for as sincerely excited as she was to be shipped off to Arcturus after. And then it was in Rio de Janeiro where the best of who she would become was fully formed, the first step in what made her into what was once a soldier to be proud of.

But she does, she loves Earth. She feels connected to it in ways she can’t explain, ways that don’t entirely make sense to her. She was shaped into the best of herself here, though, and now this is where she intends to draw her final breath.

She likes this idea.

She is so carefree, so relaxed at the very concept of what she about to do.

So relieved. It doesn’t need to be a big deal.

It makes her think of T.S. Eliot: “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.”

She has no idea how she is going to make this work, lining the tines of the fork up with the crook of her elbow. She takes a deep breath and pulls back, exhaling once she rams it in hard enough to break skin, but the ends are too dull to make it too deep by sheer force alone.

She doesn’t even consider the risk when she lets out the smallest bit of biotic energy. Just enough to add weight to her makeshift weapon, nothing more. Her field is precise, impressively so, and the same can be said for the spatial distortion that she discharges through the metal, splitting flesh far more efficiently as she drags vertically all the way down to her wrist.

She didn’t quite know how desperate she truly was until she’d done it, having dug down so deep that she was scraping against bone all the way down, the ungodly cacophony worse than nails on a chalkboard. Arteries, veins, nerves, tendons, muscle…she cannot even look at the wound, it is so grotesque, this mess she’s made.

And it hardly even hurts. There was a hot, searing pain that was nigh unbearable at the very start, but it quickly turned completely numb. Her biotics did most of the work, splitting her arm apart in sections, destroying everything in its path. She must have done enough nerve damage, or perhaps it is simply the shock of it that allows her to disconnect from it so (not shock in the literal medical sense, although that is close behind). Or maybe it’s as simple as that the blood loss is already taking over.

Because that’s done it. She has torn herself open so thoroughly that it no longer matters how she still cannot even bring herself to look, streams and spurts of different shades of red venous and arterial drowning out all else. She is sure this strike on herself has to be a success.

There is blood on the bed sheets, that catches her eye. Blood on the bed sheets, a familiarity, a welcome sight. And it may very well be enough that she gets to miss those guards that are likely actively on their way coming for her.

She is down within seconds of impact, blood pooling onto the blanket, ruining the perfectly bleached whites that looked much too sterile.

There’s so much blood. She had no idea there would be this much blood. She is exhausted. She is ready to rest.

She feels so light, she feels herself slipping. She is at peace. She is ready.

She shakes and shivers, she is already beginning to feel cold. Her stomach turns and her head spins. But it’ll be over soon. It has to be. And that’s what matters.

Overall, she’s remained surprisingly calm. There had been so obvious catalyst, no catastrophe. Only a clear headed decision enacted by a steady hand, and now the fallout of trembling atop a mattress that is rapidly changing color.

Just like falling over Alchera, her mind is at ease even though her body panics. She can’t breathe and her heart feels like it’s beating out of her chest, and that’s alright.

It isn’t a big deal.

This is the way her world ends…

This is but a whimper. And then there is nothing.

***

Anderson is called down to the in-house med clinic, and it’s not hard to figure out what he’s heading for. All he has to do is follow the blood trail.

He gets there as soon as he can, and they tell him that she barely had a pulse when they found her. She was efficient, they have to give her that one. They also tell him not to look, and he regrets it when he doesn’t listen. It’s hard to imagine how she could have mangled herself that badly all on her own, and it’s remarkably high up on the list of the most jarring, gruesome, and downright nauseating wounds he’s come into contact with. It’s a truly vile sight on its own, but he suspects his reaction has more to do with the context behind it.

They’ve stopped the bleeding, at least. She’s going to need a lot more than medi-gel, but it can do that much.

They’ll have to put her on watch, everyone’s in agreement there. He does not say anything out loud, but he can’t help blaming himself for not catching on before it came to this.

Maybe someday they’ll figure out how to address the highly unprofessional connection between them. Maybe someday they’ll have a chance to talk about this, to at least admit it to one another. Maybe someday, before it’s too late. If it isn’t too late already.

He asks about how much she’s lost, if there is anything he can do personally. They tell him it’s no longer relevant. For as much blood as there was, fluid resuscitation alone was adequate and her body is already compensating. They have her on oxygen and she’s yet to regain consciousness, but her heart rate is almost back to normal. For as advanced a state of hypovolemic shock as they found her in, this somehow no longer threatens fatality. It’s a damn miracle that she could make it out of this largely undamaged, but she is going to. Grateful as he is, Anderson tells them he doesn’t understand, and they admit that neither do they.

A damn miracle, particularly for a biotic. The nature of their abilities as well as what they put their bodies through to be able to use them makes them difficult to treat when it comes to severe injury. Their metabolisms are infamously downright ridiculous, their hearts beat at a higher rate. Their systems work so much harder, so much faster than the average person’s, and this gift can often be their curse. Simple wounds that would heal on their own tend to do so more quickly for them, but with something like _this,_ she honestly should have been gone before she hit the bed. Even stage one of shock is a likely death sentence for a biotic, so for her to pull through this…

It would read as nothing short of divine intervention were it not for the realization on Anderson’s part that this is undoubtedly the Reaper tech that put her back together keeping her in one piece again, Cerberus once more granting her the gift of life she would otherwise have lost.

Being thankful to those bastards is not a feeling that he particularly enjoys having, and he has no intention of ever voicing that thought, but he cannot deny it to himself.

Once she’s a bit more stable they’ll start on reconstruction of the arm, but no one seems worried about it. It’s almost as though they’re waiting for it to start rebuilding itself entirely independently. It doesn’t, that seemingly miraculous healing of hers does not actually extend so far, but they all know this is going to be their best, most seamless work.

Anderson is glad Kaidan isn’t here, that he was at no risk of seeing her like this.

He has calls to make, but he tells the medical staff to contact him if anything changes.

Hackett has to hear about this, of course. And he has no doubt that popular opinion be damned, this is the first step on the path to Shepard’s reinstatement.

The Alliance needs her, no matter what she thinks, and it’s plain to see that she needs the Alliance.

He heads to his office and clears his schedule. Hackett needs to know.

***

When Shepard wakes up, she has to admit, albeit decidedly silently, that she is impressed by the job done by whoever had patched her up. There is no sign of injury at all, she’s back in one piece (physically, anyway). She is all cleaned up and good as new.

It’s funny to her, with all the scars she has, how what she’s just done doesn’t show at all. As rapidly as she can heal, however, she supposes it’s different when trained medical professionals add their hands to it, in comparison to when any given injury is ignored completely.

No one says a word to her about it. She’d almost have to wonder if it was a dream or if it had really happened, but she isn’t sure she could make up the sensation (or the sound) of metal scratching along bone like that. And while she doesn’t remember feeling much pain at the time, she sure as fuck feels it now, as though all its nerves are on overdrive. She does feel a bit shaky yet, as well, but that much is fine as long as she keeps perfectly still.

She does not speak to Anderson when he checks in on her next. Neither does she care to acknowledge the young lieutenant who must have drawn the short end of the stick to be assigned as her new babysitter.

“Commander,” he says with awe in his voice when he greets her the first time. “Lieutenant James Vega. It’s an honor, ma’am.”

“You’re not supposed to call me that,” she says coldly without moving. She won’t look at him and she won’t say anything else.

He looks up to her, she hears it in his voice. There’s admiration there.

“With all due respect, ma’am…”

Reverence.

She turns her back to him.

She wants to know whose call it was to bring in a fan to watch her downfall. She wants to know who thought it was a good idea to bring this poor kid in to keep his role model away from pointy objects lest she make another go at the galaxy’s most violently cavalier ending to one’s own life.

She doesn’t know that James has no idea why he’s there, or that Anderson is pulling _his_ ass out of the fire as much as he is hers with this detail. She doesn’t know that the reasons for providing her a personal escort are being withheld, that James has no clue he’s her suicide watch.

No one’s told her that Cerberus absolutely saved her life again, that she’d been thorough enough that even for as quickly as they’d gotten to her, it would almost certainly have been too late for anyone else.

Anderson can’t find the words to describe how horrifying it was to see her brutalized and unresponsive and still covered in her own blood when he’d previously thought she was doing alright, or at least as well as she could be given the circumstances.

And neither Anderson nor Hackett can let her in on the fact that there is an official push for her reinstatement, that it’s only a matter of time whether she likes it or not.

Right now, she needs to rest. And James will complement her well.

“For what it’s worth,” he adds after his introduction, “I believe you about the Reapers.”

She almost says something, but she doesn’t know what, doesn’t know how.

She curls up under clean blankets, bloodless bed sheets, desperate for a way to hide. James takes a seat and pulls out a datapad. He’d never imagined getting to meet her, and he definitely wouldn’t have pictured it looking like this. He suspects there’s something he isn’t being told, that Anderson was more deliberate than he’d let on about picking James for this, that there’s more working behind the scenes than he understands.

She’s smaller in real life. Sadder.

Shepard doesn’t speak and James doesn’t need her to. He was far more nervous than he’ll admit walking in here, but she’s humanized herself quickly enough.

All the rumors about the extent of her PTSD, and the ton of other speculations regarding her emotional well being (or lack thereof) that have surfaced over the past year probably have some merit to them, he can see that much.

She’s been through hell. He’s read the reports and seen the vids, but in person…in person, she doesn’t have to show her face to show him the damage. There is shame, there is loss.

“Commander,” he says again, he firmly stresses. She doesn’t turn or uncurl from her fetal position, but that’s alright. They can be silent for a while.

For now, it’ll be enough.

There’s a reason he’s here, a bigger reason for them both. He believes that, he doesn’t need her to believe it with him.

She’s still fucking Commander Shepard, though, and he _does_ need her to believe that.

She is not going to die in an Alliance cell. She understands that now. She’s back to wondering who she’s going to have to see in these halls, back to not knowing how to reconcile the ends and the means.

She is not going to die in a cell.

But she has no idea what happens next.

She isn’t proud of what’s come before or where it’s left her. She is her own ground zero, her own heaviest baggage. She wanted to fall, but she pulls through attack after attack, even when the hit is from her very self.

She doesn’t know what happens next, neither does she know how to face it.

She isn’t ready for whatever comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it is not obviously not mandatory per se, I cannot possibly stress enough how strongly I have intended the listening of the song that accompanies any given chapter.
> 
> Also, I will make a point to put any necessary warnings in the beginning notes of each chapter, and tags and potentially rating will be updated as we go.
> 
> And my apologies to anyone who has read any of Carrie's story before and is therefore having things repeated at them, I am simply making no assumptions.
> 
> Fic title taken from the Mass Effect 3: Citadel DLC soundtrack.


	2. ‘Cause Everything Is Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended listening: [PJ Harvey - "The Life and Death of Mr. Badmouth"](https://youtu.be/DvP2byClKIk)
> 
> CW for referenced suicide attempt and ongoing suicidal ideation

Shepard never expected to like James. She absolutely did not expect to like him as much as she does.

He still gets a bit flustered when they speak, but he’s getting over it. He’s getting used to talking to her like any other person.

He doesn’t quite understand what he’s doing there yet, but he never asks about it when Anderson meets with him. There is always something so off about how sad the Admiral always seems about leaving her alone, and about how attentively he monitors her via surveillance cameras, how carefully he watches while James is with him, but it’s not his business. He’s a soldier, he knows that an order is an order. If he needed to know, he would. And for as curious as he is, he lets it go and simply tries harder not to think about it.

He really likes Shepard, though. No longer as the soldier or the symbol, but as the woman. She’s not just the first human Spectre to him anymore; now she is human, and he’d like to go so far as to call her a friend.

Whatever his purpose there is, he is grateful Anderson chose him for it. They complement each other well as people, and he’d love to see how well they could work together as marines.

Anderson’s been on edge lately. Rumors are flying in from all over that Shepard’s been right about everything, and James is glad to hear that Anderson is as pissed off about it as he is, and to learn that there is at least _someone_ out there who listened to her from the beginning.

“Lieutenant,” Anderson greets him one day walking into Shepard’s cell. “I’d like a moment alone with Shepard, please.”

“Yes, sir,” James replies easily, and he is sure to close the door behind him. Anderson makes this request at least once a day in the couple of weeks since the assignment. And every time, he appears uncharacteristically nervous to come in and inexplicably solemn to leave. Once more, James does not ask.

Anderson likes James. Of all the good calls he has made, assigning James to Shepard was an especially brilliant move.

He’s been good for her, it’s plain to see. She is no less broken, god knows, but she looks much better. There is progress.

“Shepard,” Anderson follows, and he sits down on her bed without asking. He never does, and that’s okay. It’s how she imagines a real father would be. “How are you holding up?”

“I…am?” She never really knows how to answer that question. She doesn’t know how to be honest anymore. She isn’t sure who she is or how she feels. All she’s certain of is that she would still much prefer to be dead.

She is so fucking tired. All she wants is to rest.

She has no kind words. She has nothing good to give him. It tastes of poison, the empty platitudes and outright lies facing off against hard truths behind her lips.

He looks into her eyes and…

This is never going to get easier.

But he is determined to get her talking. He is going to make damn sure she won’t be left alone, and not simply in terms of supervision. He can’t change how painfully unhappy she is, he can’t take away all the bad things in her head and all it tells her, but they’re not losing her.

 _He_ isn’t losing her.

“Shepard, I…”

_I’m terrified. I need you to be alright. I love you like you’re my own daughter. I’m sorry I wasn’t there._

He knows what he feels, knows what he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

The brass let it go when her relationship with Kaidan came out while she was interrogated for running off to Ilos after the Battle of the Citadel. That was more of a formality than anything else, ordered by Hackett to save face with the Alliance parliament, and by then he could not possibly have cared less about a charge so minor in comparison to all the rest she was always going to be pardoned for. It was determined that while fraternization between officers, especially officers of different ranks, was definitely still against regs and was always to be discouraged, Shepard’s service and Spectre status rendered this the exception. That made a lot of people very unhappy, but the ruling was final.

But an Admiral telling a Lieutenant how much he cares about her in this way, especially when he’d once been tried right with her for enabling her “crimes,” feels like it might still be crossing too far over the line. So he can only hope she knows. And for as often as she has accidentally called him “Dad,” it is hard to imagine that she doesn’t. But there is so much that needs saying, and too much of it’s left unsaid.

She does, though, she knows. She doubts he’ll ever say it, and she understands why, but she can’t take it right now regardless. So she changes the subject.

“Vega seems to think everyone’s finally getting their heads out of their asses,” she tries to laugh. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t explicitly told me anything, but…whenever it comes up, he sounds a lot less pissed off than he did before.”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” Anderson successfully chuckles softly. He doesn’t tell her that he’s planning to spring her out of here soon, using that exact reason as his excuse, and that Hackett has his back.

He also keeps it quiet that Kaidan’s back, and that he will most likely be present at whatever meeting they’ll be able to arrange about the Reapers. He intends to warn her before it comes, but he doesn’t need her stressing about it too much beforehand.

He doesn’t know how to talk to her. He is walking on eggshells, constantly trying to gauge what’s right and what’s wrong.

They need her, the Alliance needs her, that’s true. But here in this room, right now, with her, that doesn’t matter.

He needs her, and that scares the shit out of him.

He looks at her arm. There are no scars, no signs of what she did. If he hadn’t seen her immediately after the fact, he would never have any idea that she had recently split herself open in quarters to the bone. The skin is smooth, perfectly intact, but he can’t unsee the damage done.

She rubs her arm without thinking when she catches his eyes moving towards it.

The skin is clear but they both know what she did. It appears flawless, clean, but she can’t wash it out. Left alone, she is a danger. Left alone, all she wants is to kill the noises in her head that keep her crying in the corner, desperate for whatever punishment she can get.

And that’s why Anderson hasn’t left her alone since she was found.

But at least she likes James.

And god knows how much she loves Anderson. She wishes she could tell him. She’d love to hear it back, too, for as difficult as that is to admit.

All the lying and cheating over the past year, the horror and treason, and he has never looked at her any differently, he has always heard her out and let her vent.

Just like a father.

Unfortunately, duty calls. Everyone is finally beginning to face reality, to consider preparations for the Reaper threat, but that leaves him busier than ever. His omni-tool beeps at him, indicating that it’s time for his next meeting.

“I’m sorry, Shepard,” he sighs. They’ve mostly been sitting in silence throughout any of these visits, but that’s fine. Any time with her is sufficient. Just getting to see her alive and breathing is enough for him. “I have to…”

“Have fun out there,” she smirks.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies sarcastically, shaking his head. “Shepard…take care of yourself, alright.”

She knows what he means. It’ll do.

“You, too,” she says, and the understanding is there.

And it’ll have to do.


	3. Moving Through the Silence Without Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended listening: [Joy Division - "Shadowplay"](https://youtu.be/Dvgbk4MkHF8)
> 
> CW for extremely vague but still present suicide attempt references, as well as a broader sense of suicidal ideation and self harm

“So, ah, they not teach cover back in your day or something?” James asks Kaidan after Shepard runs ahead of them outside of the Mars archives.

There’s a strong tension between them already, neither of them can deny, and James’s not quite rhetorical question doesn’t do much to break it.

They don’t know each other very well, had only met a few times in passing in Vancouver. James has figured out quickly enough that Shepard has a complicated history with Kaidan, although he knows nothing of it, and Kaidan is taken aback by the sibling-like relationship Shepard appears to have with James when they can’t possibly have known each other for longer than a few weeks.

Neither of them know that Shepard is still too fragile for this, and she would absolutely never tell them. Leaving Anderson on Earth, leaving Earth to start with…this isn’t what she expected, neither is it what she wanted.

She certainly never pictured being back on active duty so soon after she did what she did, even if she had ever imagined that she could be reinstated to begin with.

And seeing Kaidan again has been…difficult. Anderson warned her that he would likely be at the briefing, but she didn’t expect to see him so soon, and she definitely didn’t expect to leave with him.

And Kaidan doesn’t know exactly how he’s supposed to deal with this, either. He now knows she’s been in Alliance custody, but he doesn’t know a single detail. He has no idea how she ended up there or why she requires a personal escort. And he doesn’t ask.

But he does get James’s concern. She doesn’t even try to find cover. Hell, she doesn’t even reach for her gun. It’s nothing but fists and biotics all the way down, completely reckless, unnecessarily dangerous.

Fighting like that looks like little more than a good way to get killed.

“Yeah, they did,” Kaidan shrugs. “I don’t…I don’t know what the hell it is she’s doing, I…”

“You’ve fought with her before?” James inflects as though this is a question, but the answer is obvious enough. He won’t ask what their deal is, not unless it gets in the way of the mission, but he has to admit he’s curious.

“That was…a long time ago,” Kaidan sighs. There is a longing in his voice, a sadness.

That's when it hits James, that he _knew_ the Major’s name was familiar. He’d seen him in vids after Shepard’s death (whatever that really means), frequently singled out because of who he was to her.

 _That’s_ why this is so fucking awkward.

Kaidan wants to say something about how this isn’t the time for conversation, but it isn’t as though there’s anything for them to do. Running so aggressively through a combat zone like she has a death wish this way, she’s obliterated everything in her path.

“Shit, come on,” Kaidan says when a few stragglers come up behind Shepard, beckoning James to follow him down to her.

It is a good thing, however, that they haven’t reached her, because the incredible biotic flare that surrounds her when she spots the Cerberus soldiers at her back is terrifying, even for Kaidan, taking out _everything_ in an eleven meter radius.

Kaidan wonders where the hell she learned how to do _that,_ having never seen anything like it.

He isn’t sure he wants to know, if he thinks about it.

(Shepard, herself, would agree with that. She would be inclined to believe that—at least for the time being—the less Kaidan knows about her dealings with Aria T’Loak, the better.)

“We’d better get down there,” Kaidan hisses after another moment. She can’t go on like this forever, she has to burn out eventually, and it will be worse for all of them if she does.

“Yeah, sure thing,” James says, carefully trying to read Kaidan’s tone and what he can make out of his facial expressions. He can tell that something is off here and that it’s far worse than he could reasonably know, but he wants to figure it out.

He cares about Shepard. She reminds him of his one old friend’s big sister, he realizes, maybe that’s why he’s taken to her so quickly.

He thinks there might be something about _her,_ though, in particular, and her relationship with Anderson on top of what he’s seen in countless other vids would back up that theory.

All roads lead to Shepard.

Watching Anderson worry over her, watching Kaidan’s conflicted feelings for her, James’s own strong attachment to her.

And watching her charge headfirst into an ambush that she fully saw coming.

(He will later be too shaken by what happens here to think to call her on her shit when she accuses him of not caring whether he lives or dies. Whether or not she’s right is irrelevant, given how much audacity it has to take to say a damn word to anyone else about being too eager to throw their lives away. It will also be irrelevant that he doesn’t have crucial details of her time in that cell before he met her, since this is not a conversation they will have any time soon regardless. But what matters most, here and now, is the way it all scares the absolute shit out of him.)

James is still watching, when he and Kaidan get inside with her, and Kaidan is quick to confront her about the Cerberus presence.

None of this feels like a conversation James—or any third party, for that matter—should be there for, and how upset she visibly is makes sense to him. After all, she wasn’t typically quiet at night back in the brig. He learned a lot about her while he could only stare out of the window all night, kept awake while she tried to sleep, and he found a lot of truth there. He had thought a few times during those nights, as well, if he had been assigned to her for concern that she might be considered at risk, a potential danger to herself. He doesn’t know, and he has to imagine he would have been told were it truly something so severe, but even before he saw her in action (and how right he was that she is, in fact, such a risk), listening to her sleep had told him far more than anything she has ever said to him in waking life. She’s spoken a little about Cerberus, but never details. But she has _screamed_ about names, dates, and places in her dreams. And that is more than enough.

James likes Kaidan, he really does, and James reminds himself that for as little as he knows, it’s probably vastly more than Kaidan does. So he can’t blame Kaidan for being cautious. But he sees Shepard fumble, sees her stare in disbelief as all her hope sinks, and he kind of wants to punch him.

He seriously cares about Shepard.

All roads lead to Shepard.

And it’s hard being sent away, having to walk the path back to the shuttle after Shepard and Kaidan catch up to Liara, another old friend.

All roads meet at Shepard.

***

“Fuck you, Liara,” Shepard mumbles at the edge of sleep when James approaches her in the med bay, where she is curled up in a cold steel bed next to Kaidan’s. “Fuck off.”

She’s been scratching at the inside of her left forearm, four lines up and down, burning red. Just because he was never told of the action she is emulating does not mean he cannot easily detect that there’s more to this than he knows, but he doesn’t comment.

“Just me, Commander,” James says. “She was looking for you, though. I figured it was a safe bet to check in here.”

He already knows her too well. Neither of them understand it, but she can’t pretend she isn’t used to it.

“Are we at the Citadel?” Shepard asks without looking up. It’s a lot like the first time he saw her.

She is definitely not okay. He wants to understand.

He can wait it out, though. He can wait for her to open up, to be ready. He can already say for certain that he’ll be there whenever she is.

Cerberus really fucked her up, though, that much is clear as day.

“ETA’s about a half hour,” James answers. “Your friend Liara thought you might want to shower or something before we get there.”

“Do I look that bad?” Shepard laughs, but it’s sure as hell not funny.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?” James teases, and she laughs harder.

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” she replies as she starts stretching out her legs.

“It might not be the worst idea,” he says honestly, opting for the most polite version he can find of informing her that she truly does look as bad as she feels.

“Fuck…fine,” Shepard whines while she finally gets herself to sit. “Thanks, Vega.”

“Shepard,” he doesn’t stop himself from starting when she gets to her feet. “You and Alenko…”

“It’s complicated,” she answers quickly.

“Yeah, no shit,” he accidentally says out loud. “Ah, sorry. Ma’am.”

Not that she has to tell him that she’s in love with Kaidan. Not that she has to tell him how scared she is.

There’s no searching for her here. There is only watching her drown in the depths of all that has followed them here from Mars, from Earth.

From far more than he can fathom, he knows. But he’ll keep to this road, with Shepard at its center.

How many roads converge at her? How far down do these bleak shadows go? How does it all connect?

Shepard is so plainly damaged from years of wear, she is so much smaller in person.

But with her history, it’s impressive that she’s still standing at all.

And it is Cerberus which has shattered her yet again, he realizes. He really hopes she can get some real sleep tonight. He really hopes she’s going to be okay.

“Don’t worry about it, James,” she shakes her head. “Cerberus was…Cerberus. There’s a lot of trust I’m gonna need to work hard to earn back. I only hope I…”

“You will, Shepard,” he interjects, the best he can offer her.

She will get the chance. She has to.

“I died, James,” she says solemnly. “That really happened. I was dead, and then I wasn’t. But how would _you_ feel if you believed someone you loved had died, and then two years later you bumped into them without any warning. Would _you_ believe it?”

This is much deeper than James was expecting to get, and she isn’t fazed when he doesn’t answer.

“I worked with them, I did what they wanted,” she continues. “Cerberus. They used me. I let them. The line starts to get pretty blurry. They’re an enemy, I have no doubt about that. As for where that leaves _me,_ well…”

He notices that she is rubbing the palm of her hand over the fresh scratches, and he can’t tell if she’s aiming to soothe them or exacerbate them.

He looks at her, now lost in the dark, now searching her for answers. None come.

But he can wait her out. And he’s here now.

In this war, all roads lead to Shepard.

On this ship, all roads meet at Shepard.

“The Collectors had to be stopped, ma’am,” he says. “By any means necessary.”

That’s what he has to tell himself, anyway. That’s how he ever sleeps at night.

“Thanks,” she whispers. It’s not convincing, but it’s been a damn rough couple of days. “Fuck, I’m running out of time before we…I should go.”

“Ma’am,” he salutes her instinctively on her way out the door.

There is so much he doesn’t know.

He glances at Kaidan, and it’s almost laughable that this mission ended with a critical injury but it somehow wasn’t her.

Except that there is nothing humorous about this at all. Any of it.

He has to get out of here.

He decides to head to the bridge, to properly introduce himself to Joker.

“So, ah, she always been like this?” James asks once the formalities are out of the way. They’re getting close enough to their destination now that they can’t get too involved in conversation, though.

“Like _what,_ exactly?” Joker laughs mirthlessly. He knows precisely what James is asking, of course he does, but he’s not going to talk so freely about what a mess his best friend is to a near stranger.

“Never mind,” James says, reading between the lines. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s been a rough ass year, is all I’m saying,” Joker adds. “Stick around, you get used to it.”

It’s vague, but it’s an answer. It was only in the last year that Shepard was seen again. Shepard herself said that she literally did die. So that’s when it changed.

James doesn’t think he needs to know any more.

“Yeah, I will,” is all he says to Joker before he leaves the bridge.

It’s all he’s got.

Waiting in the night, the stars passing them by. Waiting for answers, waiting for the fight. Waiting for her. Waiting for the next mission.

Waiting for her, knowing no more.

Shepard, the center where all roads meet.

This is going to be an interesting ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is legit Carrie's entire fighting style in ME3. She very rarely fires an actual shot this game because heavy melee and Flare are the actual best.
> 
> Also, I had previously written a one-shot that is a more detailed retelling of Carrie's mission to Mars, which I do recommend reading in addition to this chapter as it will fill in a lot of potential blanks that were left simply as a result of not wanting to blatantly copy too much of that piece in this one. That fic can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848149). :)


	4. I Could Feel Myself Under Your Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended listening: [Mazzy Star - "Into Dust"](https://youtu.be/04J0ihSeIuI)
> 
> CW for alcohol abuse and referenced depersonalization

Palaven looks as bad as Earth.

But Garrus is back. That’s something.

The Council is as helpful as ever, but they’re finally listening. At least sort of. That’s something.

But now the turians are refusing to help without krogan cooperation.

That’s…

Fuck.

“Why is this all falling on me?” Shepard asks Garrus in the Normandy’s lounge. “What the fuck qualifies _me_ to handle _all of fucking this?”_

She is breathless, shaking. Everything is so heavy. Everything is breaking.

Palaven, Earth…Mars…

Falling. Everything is falling.

“I don’t know,” Garrus says honestly. “But I don’t think _anyone_ is genuinely qualified for even the smallest part of this shitshow.”

“You might be right about that,” Shepard sighs. “But…fuck, this is all…”

“It’s a lot, I know,” Garrus offers. “Are you sleeping?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Shepard sneers. She pours a second…or maybe fifth…glass of asari hard liquor. She is quick to reprimand herself, though. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I…I’m trying.”

“Worried about Kaidan?” Garrus reaches for a bottle of turian brandy, then easing back into a chair.

She tries to focus on Dr. Michel’s words, that she is professionally optimistic about Kaidan’s chances, that they were prompt enough to reduce the swelling and that his vitals were strong.

That his vitals _are_ strong.

“Come on, Kaidan, fight,” she’d told him at his bedside after the doctors got him stabilized. “And that’s an order.”

Like two strangers, blown away by the dust storm threatening to consume them on Mars. And fuck knows they need him. The Alliance needs him, they really do. He’s a hell of a soldier, and it was incredible to see it again.

He’s a hell of a person, too, even as they fall away from each other. And she needs to fix that. _She_ needs him.

Earth, Palaven…

But there’s so much she’s fighting for, so much more to gain. Some priorities are simply on a grander scale than others.

Even if she so easily falls away into the lesser sort.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I am.”

She’s been wary of James since leaving Palaven, wary of seeming too eager to challenge him to another dance. That had been much needed, a fantastic way to blown off steam, but neither of them missed the blows the other could have dodged if they’d only tried a little harder. Both of them walked out of there with their own blood on their faces, but both of them were all that much better off for it.

But she has been too nervous to seek this out again so soon. She is falling and broken, and she doesn’t know how to let go.

Kaidan’s a fighter, though, god knows. After everything he’s been through…

Kaidan’s a fighter. And as much as the fear overtakes her, she won’t lose him.

“I know, Garrus,” she chastises herself. “I know, with so much at stake, and after all this time…”

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” Garrus laughs. “It’s okay. You love him. A lot of people love a lot of other people. War doesn’t change that. Just gives you something else to fight for.”

She’s been trying so hard to become colder. She’s been trying so hard not to fade into the dust clouds where her mind still desperately wanders.

“I don’t know if I was trying to…trying to _fool_ anyone, but…”

“But you’re _really_ not,” Garrus reiterates, and it is nothing if not endearing. “I’ve been with you through how much now, Shepard?”

“Everything, really,” Shepard smiles.

He has, though, he’s seen it all. He consoled her after her confrontation with Kaidan on Horizon. Hell, he even tried to talk Kaidan into joining them.

Kaidan could never, though. He’s too loyal to the Alliance, too…too _good._

Joker, Garrus, and Tali are good, of course. So is Dr. Chakwas. But Kaidan is different. She can’t put her finger on it, but he always has been.

Kaidan’s heart is too gentle, and he’s too skilled at seeing the big picture. Garrus’s motives are pure, but he has no issue being ruthless when he needs to be. Tali has grown so much since her pilgrimage, and she was never quiet about her personal hatred for Cerberus, and she had already been in the field with Shepard again when they recruited her. And Joker…Joker’s loyalty is to Shepard and to the Normandy. Kaidan loved her, sure, but he’s also logical, pragmatic. He was right to be careful, justified in not trusting her, and there wasn’t time to convince him on Horizon. She thinks he was actually beginning to come around to her on Mars, but then…

“It was Kaidan,” she says forlornly. “It _is_ Kaidan. It’s always been Kaidan. It feels so fucking childish, Garrus, but I…I do, I love him. I’ve never _loved_ anyone before. Shit, does it always hurt like this?”

She’s fucked up even more than Kaidan knows, too. She lost herself with Cerberus, well before she saw him again, but after Horizon…she wasn’t simply lost anymore, she was actively destroying herself.

First there was Kelly, and for a second she’d almost believed that could be serious. Kelly had reminded her so much of Kaidan in a way. And that’s why she slept with Aria after being with Kelly, because she could never let herself have that again. And after Aria was a fair amount of the population of Omega. And of the Citadel. And then there was Thane.

Thane got her to stop fucking around, at least, but that was never going to be fair to him.

It helped that Garrus turned her down after she and Thane started their…fling? No, it was more than a simple fling. Affair, maybe. That sounds better. And worse. But better.

She reminds herself she wasn’t technically cheating. She doesn’t think so, anyway. But she supposes she isn’t _truly_ certain, especially not after that email. Which _she_ never replied to. Maybe if she had, she’d know.

But it changes nothing. Her head can say all it wants, but her heart says that what she did was wrong.

She really lost herself with Cerberus.

And here she is, Alliance again, the Normandy back in the right hands. Yet she is still drinking too much, still broken in two, still feeling herself fading.

She’s grateful she can talk about this shit with Garrus. Joker hasn’t forgiven Kaidan for Horizon, too fiercely loyal to Shepard and still too shaken himself by how much it had shaken her. She has too hard of a time being around Liara yet at all; she understands why Liara gave her body to Cerberus, that it was better them than the Collectors, but it still so difficult to process (and there is, alas, no polite way to scold someone for not simply burning a dear old friend’s remains at first sight, especially when such an act would come at great personal risk). She has already built a good rapport with Samantha and Steve, and she even has to admit that she likes Diana, but they are all too new yet. And as for James…

Steve would probably notice, as well, if she went down seeking James for another go. Steve might even worry. He seems the type.

She could probably _talk_ to James if she really wanted, too. She somehow feels like she could tell him anything.

And she is grateful he never brings up how they met, _why_ they met. She doesn’t ever want to talk about _that,_ either, and it helps that she doesn’t feel compelled to mention it even simply to tell him to keep it between the two of them. She doesn’t understand why she so easily trusts him to keep her secret safe all on his own, but she does.

(And she will not say a word, not once while they serve together in this war. At no point between now and the end of the Reaper threat will she find out he never knew, and at no point between now and then will he learn.)

“So what’s up with you and that Lieutenant Vega?” Garrus asks, and it doesn’t surprise her.

“Fuck if I know,” she shrugs. “If you’re thinking…it’s not like that. There’s something there that doesn’t make sense, but it’s like…a brother? Shit, Garrus, the Normandy crews have made me soft.”

She laughs, but she’s not sure it’s funny. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s far too true to be funny.

She’s found family with these people. Inside these walls, fighting beside her. Family in unexpected places.

“He calls me Lola,” she adds. “And I let him.”

Garrus doesn’t know what to make of that one. No one—absolutely fucking _no one_ —calls her anything but Shepard. She doesn’t even tell people her first name, and she only answers to anything beyond her surname when it’s her title.

Everyone calls her Shepard, even Thane and Kelly.

But not Kaidan, not after they finally consummated that obvious romantic and sexual tension between them while they were on their way to Ilos. Kaidan is allowed, and even encouraged, to call her Carrie. But only Kaidan, it would seem.

Hell, he’s only ever even heard _her_ say her own name, herself, during their time with Cerberus, when she would let it slip to reference the woman she seemed to still genuinely believe dead after the Collector attack, or after Kelly and Dr. Chakwas forcibly co-implemented upon her the coping mechanism of talking herself down by reminding herself of her name, where she physically was in that moment, and the current date whenever it started to get _really_ scary in regards to how far she was slipping away.

And now James gets to call her Lola. Garrus truly has no idea how to take that.

“Are we allowing nicknames now, Shepard?” Garrus teases. He has nothing in mind off the top of his head, but it’s an interesting concept.

She’s Shepard, though. She’s always been Shepard, and he can’t imagine calling her by any other name.

He isn’t sure he ever heard her first name until Kaidan began using it. He isn’t sure he’d even known what it was.

Until Kaidan.

Kaidan, lying in a hospital bed, clinging to life. But clinging. Dr. Michel said he’s going to be alright. It was far from a promise, but it was hope.

She can’t have lost him on Mars, two strangers fading into dust.

It occurs to her that this could easily be how he’d have felt if she’d succeeded in the brig. It occurs to her that she hates the idea of making him feel this way.

Lost. Falling. Fading.

How many drinks is this?

“Enough, I’d say,” Garrus tells her gently. It would seem she’d asked out loud. She hadn’t realized.

Garrus flashes back to long nights at the Dark Star Lounge, how she would regularly scare the living hell out of whoever she was with.

Thane wanted so badly to save her. But so did Garrus, himself. So _does_ Garrus. So do the rest of them.

It is still so raw, even after all this time. Although time for her is not the same, however easy that is for everyone else to forget.

For everyone else, more than three years have passed since the original Normandy was attacked. For her, on the other hand, it is inside a year that she last fell asleep with Kaidan beside her.

That is not a concept easily comprehended by others, however. Two years is too long to let go for those who lived it.

Two years spent broken and torn for so many. Two years broken and torn for Shepard, as well, but oh so differently, and while the rest were aware of it at the time.

“Maybe it’s time to call it a night,” Garrus suggests, and for once she acquiesces without a struggle.

She is so tired, her hands are shaking.

Breathless, shaking underneath the weight of her fear.

Her eyes are strained from exhaustion, and from trying so hard to keep herself together.

But when she gets to her cabin, she sees the blinking light on her private terminal. She considers it for a second, almost passes it by, but she elects to check before she gets into bed.

_Doc says I’m ready for visitors._  
_From: Kaidan Alenko_

It was him. It’s always been him.

And he’s alive. He’s awake.

They won’t always be left as two strangers fading into dust.

She can see him, speak to him. She can try to fix this. She doesn’t have to lose him. There might be so much yet to gain.

“Joker,” she comms, her voice breaking. “Joker…we need to get to the Citadel. ASAP. Please.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Joker responds without question, and she ignores the thought in her head about sounding the same as she did when she ordered him to Earth months before.

This is good news, and god knows they’ve needed it. She will even almost sleep tonight.

A weight falls from her shoulders and she breathes deeply.

She has work to do. Relationships to forge, to mend. Something more to gain.

She’s not fading, after all. She is not growing colder, not shedding into dust. Not today.


End file.
